Bonus Epilogue
OLIVER
6 years later
U nder the setting Sicilian sun, Madison looks just as beautiful as the day I met her. Probably more, considering the overwhelmed, sobbing state she had been in that day. Her golden hair reflects the sunlight. She sweeps it over her shoulder as she looks out at the sweeping vineyards of the winery.
After two years of marriage, I’m still deeply in love with my wife. If anything, I love her even more now than I did back then. But since then, we’ve grown together. Our lives have changed drastically, but nothing could ever smother the fire that still burns between us.
“We should write about this,” she muses from the balcony. “About having to wait two years to have a honeymoon.”
Madison could write about anything and sell a million copies. After she finished her degree, Madison focused all her energy on becoming the published writer she always dreamed about being. Her first novel—a romance set right here in Sicily—blew up, selling thousands of copies and gaining attention all over the world. The publisher was unsure about her second. The creative non-fiction style broke all the rules of her genre, but they gave it a chance and it too exceeded all expectations.
After that, they stopped questioning her stories. Sending off her fifth manuscript just days before we left for our honeymoon, we weren’t supposed to talk about work while we were here. It was meant to be a time for just us. No agents, no editors, no laptops. But we’ve never been good at sticking to the rules we make for ourselves.
Between her regular releases and my infrequent ones, we’ve become global writing superstars. If that’s even a thing. We built a brand as authors who fell in love, and I think she is right. Readers have been begging us to write collaboratively for a while now, but we never had the right story to tell. This might be it though. My thoughts swirl with the possibilities, wondering how far back in our relationship we should go. How much of our unconventional start we should tell.
I step out onto the balcony and wrap my arms around her. As I always do when we are close, I feel home.
“We should.”
We watch as the sun sets, blissfully ignoring the flight we have to take home tomorrow. Our actual honeymoon might be over, but even after all these years, nothing could drag us out of the honeymoon phase.
“You’re feeling better?” I ask as I open a bottle of local wine and pour us each a glass.
Earlier in our trip, the Italian food had disagreed with her. She felt sick for weeks, but the stomach bug has finally settled.
“Yeah.”
Looking down at her wine, her gentle smile shifts into a thin line. Her eyes widen as she pushes the glass into my hands. She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, frantically counting at her fingers. My cheek puffs with air as I wait for her to let me in on whatever it is that has her so excited.
Her arms hug her stomach, eyes sparkling in the dying light. Looking up, her mouth spreads back into a smile.
“I think I know what it was.”